


Almost Real

by secretly_a_savior



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - World War II, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Italy, M/M, Teen!Tony, soldier!bucky, young Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_savior/pseuds/secretly_a_savior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthony Stark is an Italian teen with ambition, working for his father and dreaming of the day where he can live up to his potential in America.<br/>Sergeant Bucky Barnes is an infantryman stationed in Italy after Italy surrendered to the Allied Forces.<br/>When they meet- they immediately click, but can they overcome the obstacles associated with their relationship- can they make it through the war?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You didn't, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is obviously going to be a very long fic ahhh!  
> So uh, basically, just please ignore any historical inaccuracies and language inaccuracies. Also assume if Tony is speaking with Howard, or Maria, or Arno that they're speaking Italian ha. If you speak Italian and have any pointers or correction please let me know! I try to do all the historical research before each chapter but that can be difficult sometimes, yo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, basically, just please ignore any historical inaccuracies and language inaccuracies. Also assume if Tony is speaking with Howard, or Maria, or Arno that they're speaking Italian ha. If you speak Italian and have any pointers or correction please let me know! I try to do all the historical research before each chapter but that can be difficult sometimes, yo!  
> ((E D I T: 8/22, change of setting from Velletri, Italy to Naples, Italy.))

Anthony Stark was **not** going to grow up a tailor. Of all the things that Anthony wanted to do- see the world, go to school, look through a telescope, find another man like himself (among other things)- making clothes for the rest of his life was not one of them. He had no talent for it- he could take apart his mother’s sewing machine and put it back together in minutes. He could add up transactions for his father in seconds- **without** an abacus. But at tailoring? He was mediocre at best. Not to mention- he didn’t want to stay in Naples his entire life. Especially not with his father breathing down his neck, screaming abuse into his ears until he was blue in the face.

Howard Stark wanted the perfect son- but, unfortunately, he got Anthony Edward Stark. That is to say he got a scrawny, snarky boy with no interest in women and no interest in the family business. That was the real tragedy to Howard Stark- not the war unfolding around them. Why couldn’t Anthony be more like Arno? Arno was content to stay in Naples- especially now that the Germans were gone for good. He was a wonderful tailor, and very burly and classically attractive. He’d served a term in the Italian Army but came home after an incident with chemical weapons left him weak. He was a war hero now though- took all the attention wherever they went. Really, his homecoming only made Stark and Sons’ Fine Sewing all the more popular- which Anthony resented him for.

Arno soaked in attention like skin soaked in the sun- he partied and slept around constantly: what with all the able men gone for the war effort, every woman was available- and all the men left too, really. He worked in the shop all day- he was a gifted seamster- and went drinking on his pension every night- which to Howard was totally respectable? Anthony’s hobbies? Not so much. He was always tinkering, and seeking knowledge he really didn’t need to run the shop. He spoke decent English and was moving on to learn French. When was he going to need French running the family business? Never, that’s when. (At least according to Howard.) Anthony had a passion for school and knowledge- but Howard pulled Anthony from school when he became a man- aged 13, that is to say. It was time to learn the trade. (The trade that Anthony _very much didn’t want to learn.)_

Anthony found his own accomplishments impressive- when the machines broke he could always fix them. When an Englishman or an American needed a suit tailored, he was able to speak to them- and when his father’s adding machine broke he was not only able to fix it, he was able to stand in for it while it sat in his “bedroom”, pieces and parts lying around it on his desk. Of course, **‘bedroom’** is in quotations because Anthony slept on a mattress behind hung curtains. They lived in the apartment above the shop- a tiny thing. Two bedrooms, one water closet, a dining room, a kitchen, and a small family room. Anthony’s ‘bedroom’ took up half of the family room. He had an unclothed bed, a desk, and an unshaded lamp that tossed light everywhere but where Anthony needed it. He kept his clothes and tools in the desk’s drawers, and his books on the floor, out of sight from his father.

He didn’t want to be a tailor, or a seamster, or whatever it was called, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be living behind a bedsheet in Italy until he died. He wanted to see the world- he wanted to see America. He could find real success in America- put his ideas to work. All the inventions and ideas he sketched out could become real in America. Of course his father called that _un sogno stupido_ -a stupid dream, and threatened Anthony with a leather belt if he kept rambling about the un-obtainable. Maria didn’t have much of an opinion on it. She was either working, praying, or too drunk to listen to Anthony. The war took a toll on her- she was sickened by it. She was once Anthony’s only friend in the world, but with his mother so changed he really didn’t have anyone but himself.

He really didn’t understand why the whole family couldn’t pack up and look for success in America. They were well off enough to make the move; they- with the exception of Anthony- were fantastic at their craft. People from all over the country came to get their suits altered, or to get custom suits made. They were forced to drop their prices to nearly nothing due to the war though, and the rising price of basic cottons and silks didn’t help that either. Right now they were subsisting entirely on the meager money they made altering and patching uniforms for the American Army.

Speaking of Americans, a group of rowdy American soldiers entered the bar he was in. They were all clearly on leave- the Starks lived close to the outside of Naple; halfway between Cercola and the center of the city. Naples was constantly crawling with soldiers both British and American- but on Anthony's side of town? Not so much. You had soldiers and airmen posted here and there, but their presence hardly made an impact on anything; mostly they helped people into shelters when the air raid sirens sounded- which was unfortunately often. The sparseness of the occupation on the outskirts of town meant when the soldiers needed a break, they most often ended up in the shops and bars around Anthony’s home. They were less likely to run into COs or colleagues and it was just generally a more quiet piece of the city with cheaper bars and less crowds.

Anthony himself was having a drink, sitting at the bar with a copy of Aldous Huxley’s  _Brave New World_ , a pen, and an _Italiano-Inglese dizionario_ in front of him, scribbling notes in the margins furiously. He liked science fiction. A lot, actually. He read _L’anno 3000_ recently: for such old literature it was incredibly forward thinking, and fun to read too. _Brave New World_ was absolutely captivating him as he sat, occasionally taking a sip of his manhattan. He took delight in being able to read the novel in public under the Allied occupation. When they first moved in and set up shop in Naples, having moved from a smaller city on the coast, he found the book under his floorboards along with the dictionary, some English to French textbooks, and lots of English literature. He noticed them while pacing one night, thinking- his shoes didn't make the same sound when he stepped on some of the floor- he pried the boards up one night while Howard was away drinking and Maria was working. What he discovered amazed him: rare books and a letter from the man who owned the store before them. It so happened that their new home was originally a bookshop. There were already tight restrictions on literature in place and when the Germans occupied Naples they ordered a huge amount of 'offensive' literature to be burned. The keeper hid what he could and- unfortunately burned the rest to appear supportive of the Nazi Party. Anthony considered it _**fate**_ that the books ended up in his possession- and, as soon as he convinced Howard to let him keep them, he dove into them, using the information in the books to the best of his ability. He loved his illicit library with all of his heart.

Something else Anthony loved? That soldier over there. He leant into the bar, trying to see the man’s nametag- and failing. He had the prettiest accent Anthony had ever heard and an even prettier face. Anthony debated on whether or not to approach him- same-sex relationships were most definitely frowned on, and had actually recently been unrecognized in Italy. Anthony wasn’t about being pummeled by a group of Americans for his taste. _(Again.)_ Eventually, he caught the soldier’s eye, and he decided against it. There was something warm in those blue eyes that he wanted to explore- but there was also age to them. He was clearly older than Anthony- all of them were. Anthony was a month shy of his seventeenth birthday, but in America you needed to be eighteen to join the armed forces.

He returned to his reading, but every so often kept glancing at the outspoken American- occasionally catching (and immediately avoiding) his glance. Around the tenth time it happened though, he was frustrated enough from the arcane language in the novel, and far enough into his drink to cross the room to the soldier; who turned as Anthony got closer to him. The man’s colleagues had all dispersed- probably all hopped to another bar, and Anthony could see clearly that the neatly engraved tag on his left breast-pocket read ‘Barnes’ now. A strange name- was it a last name? “Barnes,” he started, the English name sounding foreign on his tongue. He was nervous- he didn’t have the chance to practice his English every day, the line sounded right in his head but what if he messed it up. “Are you by any chance a _field medicine?”_ he asked.

The soldier straightened up, concern and confusion apparent on his face. “Why, kid, what’s up?” he asked, looking Anthony up and down. He wasn’t a field medic, he was an infantryman, but he had basic first aide knowledge. He didn’t look hurt but that didn’t mean anything. Tony made a face when Barnes called him ‘kid’ but continued his line, inching closer to the soldier and then finally taking the vacant stool next to him.

“Because I hurt myself falling for you.” Anthony finished, and the line got a laugh from the soldier who took a sip of his own drink before looking to the younger.

“‘That so?” he asked with a chuckle, his Brooklyn accent thick as Anthony tried to understand him. He received an enthusiastic nod from the teen and laughed, shaking his head. He himself was only 20- but he found himself wondering how old this kid was. “Well, no, I’m not a ‘field medicine’, but I am Sergeant James Barnes. Friends call me Bucky, though.” he said with a grin, reaching out to shake Anthony’s hand.

Anthony took his hand and shook it with a smirk on his face, but stepped away for a moment, grabbing his drink and books before returning to sit next to Bucky. “Oh!” he said, shaking his head briefly. “I’m Anthony, Anthony Stark. Mi dispiace.” he said, scrubbing a hand down his face. Bucky nodded.

“Anthony… can I call ya Tony?” he inquired, taking another sip of his drink and deciding to humor the enthusiastic young Italian, even if just for a conversation.

“Tony…” Anthony repeated, drawing the word out and biting his lip and thinking for a moment. “Sure, Bucky.” he affirmed. In that moment, Tony looked around the bar and every detail of this place, usually his favorite place to read and be alone, seemed to pale in comparison to this American soldier. He had beautiful ash brown hair, and eyes bluer than the sea off the coast of Anzio. Everything about him reminded him of the promise that America had in store for Tony. His flawless skin, the beautifully straight teeth, the crisp, well fitted uniform. To Tony it all screamed success and freedom; two things he strived for.

“So, you fell for me, huh?”

“Yes.” Despite his quick, confident answer, Tony’s face went red. He was worried now. The charming grin on the soldier’s face didn’t do much to put his mind at ease. He prepared himself for a sharp left hook… one he didn’t receive. Instead, Bucky continued to speak.

“Cute. I’ll have you know, though, in America we don’t fuck kids.” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

“I am not kid!” Tony protested, taking a sip of his drink and gesturing to his novel. The broken up english made Bucky laugh- and it was the sweetest laugh Tony’d ever heard.

“You are. How old are you?”

“Ah- I’m… one, duex, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nuef? No.. nine..” he began, counting out the numbers but getting stuck. He looked to the American with hope in his eyes. “ _Sedici.”_ he finally affirmed- giving up on english numerics. He was getting them mixed up with the new french numbers he was learning and he didn’t want to be frustrated in front of this man who didn’t turn him away.

“So you’re sixteen-” Tony beamed at Bucky’s correct identification of the italian word. “- Not gonna happen, punk. Go to school or something.” he said with a shrug, turning back to his drink, facing the inside of the bar.

Anthony scoffed. “I **wish**. My father isn’t let me go to school. We sew.”

Bucky turned back to Tony, wholly curious. “You sew? Like what?” he asked, not giving Anthony a chance to answer before he continued speaking. “Oh- wait! Stark’s.. we go there to get our uniforms patched up for drill and ceremonies occasionally.” he said, pointing a finger at Tony.

“Oh! Yes. We do most things. Alterations and clothes for people in town mostly. Your uniforms have been big help for my family.” he said, a grin finding it’s way onto his face, making Bucky shake his head with a short laugh.

They sat in silence for a moment, eyes locked, studying one another’s faces, until Tony glanced down, checking his watch. “ _Merda_. Work.” he muttered, frantically checking the pockets of his corduroys for a few lire to put on the bar to pay for his drink. Bucky shook his head and gestured for Anthony to stop. “I’ve got it.” he said, placing a few banknotes under the glass Tony’s now-watered-down drink was in. He’d been too lost in Bucky and in his reading to drink it. That’s what usually happened when he came to be alone or to read, minus the ‘Bucky’ part. He hadn’t come to the bar with the intention of finding companionship, no, not at all. He thanked Bucky profusely and began to make a beeline for the door- he was so frenzied he didn't even notice as _Brave New World_ slipped from his arms, hitting the floor with a muffled thud.

“You’re crazy. I could’ve beat the shit out of you for coming up and hitting on me like that, you know that, right?” Bucky called after Tony, who was halfway out the door.

After a moment, mentally translating, Tony turned around and flashed a grin at Bucky. “You didn’t, though.” he said before disappearing into the dusky night. **  
**


	2. Dusk (When the sun goes down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony tries to be smooth (again), Bucky tempts fate, and Arno suspects Tony is up to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 8/24/2015, Fixed Italian grammar and syntax! Thank you to @Giuliettabeccaria for the help!!

A few days had passed since the encounter at the bar with Bucky Barnes and Tony couldn't help but think about him a lot. He couldn't help it at _**all,**_ actually. The soldier _presumably_ had his novel- the novel which he was very much invested in. It was actually unfortunate, he was just beginning to grasp the story, and he left it at the bar. When he went back to ask the barkeeper, he said that one of the Americans took it on their way out. The only soldier left in the bar when Tony left was Barnes- which meant he _must've_ taken it.

"You're _quiet_ today, Anthony." Howard Stark began as he entered the front of the shop, a rag in hand as he began to clean the counter for maybe the third time that day. The words were laced with venom, meant to egg Tony on, clearly. Tony glanced up from the paper he was absentmindedly working on and shrugged wordlessly. His reaction earned him a scowl from his brother who was passing through the room, a threaded needle between his teeth.

"It's _**nice**_ when he's quiet, _papà_. We don't have to listen to him drone on about **America!** Land of the free thinkers! Free thinkers that killed _thousands_ of our troops an-"

"Free thinkers that are **aiding** us now, Arno. Free thinkers that _walk our streets._ " Tony shot back, cutting his brother off. Arno stopped in his tracks, shooting a glare at Tony. There was tense silence in the room before Arno scoffed, removing the needle from his mouth and pulling a pair of beige trousers from the rack behind Tony and exiting the room. The quiet _click clack_ of a sewing machine- only audible as the door opened- in the back room punctuated his brother's exit.

Tony exited as well, up the stairs with his paper and pencil, leaving his father to man the storefront for a while. It had been awfully _slow_ recently. Hellishly slow, actually, with the constant threat of an aerial attack looming and resources so tight, no one really had much **money** to get a piece altered or made. Not to mention, there weren't many celebrations or parties that people needed to look nice for. Occasionally they got the odd school uniform that needed hemmed or patched but those jobs never brought in that much money. Maria was far too considerate to charge too much for things like that.

She had a soft spot for young children, a soft spot that made Anthony yearn for the days when he sat in his mother's lap, her singing and running her long fingernails through his jet black hair. Now she hardly cast a glance his way. He missed his mother, missed her _so much-_ the worst thing was missing someone who was still around. Tony put his paper, which had small sketches and phrases and ideas all over it- one on top of another, holes erased in the paper from multiple uses, into his top desk drawer. Paper was at a premium so he re-used what he could when he could. He sat on the edge of his worn bed and as soon as he got comfortable, heard a yell from below: his father calling his name. " _Sì, papà?"_ He called out before hearing a more aggressive shout for his name- obviously they meant to summon him. It was worth a shot.

He dragged himself down the stairs- expecting to see his father or Arno angry- but instead saw Bucky, arm full of uniforms and a charming grin upon his lips. " _Un cliente Americano,_ You deal with him." Howard said, clapping Tony on the back- the Italian words made to sound cheery but actually quite passive aggressive. Howard didn't much like foreigners. Tony grinned and leaned onto the counter, one arm on it and the other on his hip.

"Miss me, Bucky?"

"Not particularly, kid, but you probably missed this." Bucky said, a smirk on his face as he pulled _Brave New World_ from the pile of uniforms. His smirk spread into a grin as Tony's face lit up.

" _Grazie_!" The teen exlaimed enthusiastically, snatching the book and hugging it to his chest. He turned around briefly, making sure Howard wasn't around before putting it on the counter. Despite the fact that his knowledge of the English language was coming in handy _right this second,_ he'd be angry with Tony for reading and brushing up during shop hours. "They teach to navigate in the American Army, no?"

Bucky scoffed- he knew where this was going. He humored Tony though, a dopey grin on his face. "Yes, they do teach us _navigation,_ why?"

"Because you need to help me out." Anthony picked back up, not skipping a beat even though he was making a mental note of Bucky's correction. "I've gotten lost in your eyes, James."

Bucky laughed; it was a hearty laugh. A loud one. The miss-delivered line made him remember- he had something more for Tony. He was going to have to _find it_ of course, but Bucky thought it was a perfect way to temp fate. He hadn't actually stopped thinking about Tony since meeting him in the bar and buying him that drink- his confident smile, his accent, his minutely broken English. He thought at very least he could be a _friend_ to the poor kid- he was probably lonely. Not to mention, Bucky himself was lonely. He had his comrades, sure, but no-one he could really spill his soul to. He sent and received letters to and from Steve, but they were few and far between due to the travel times and struggle on the homefront.

Bucky's laugh made Tony smile- he'd _dreamt_ about that laugh. His sudden infatuation with the soldier frustrated him; he knew it would never go anywhere. He'd be stuck in Italy forever (if Italy survived the war), but it was nice to have _**hope**_. Hell, it was nice to have a _friend._ Someone he could smile around was all Tony _really_ needed- so why couldn't it be Bucky? He hadn't _totally_ shot down his advances, right?

"You're gonna have to help yourself out of that one. So what's that book about?" he asked, carefully placing the uniforms on the counter, laying them flat. Tony glanced at the uniforms and then back at the foreigner behind the counter, excitement in his eyes at the prospect of casual English conversation- something he hadn't much practice at.

"The future! It's scary- I'm not understanding of Huxley's train of thought. You've reading it?"

"No, I haven't. Don't have much time to read. They keep us busy, and when they're not keeping us busy they give us free reign- and when I've got time I'm either dancing or drinking." He shrugged at the words. "And I mean I **could've** been reading this whole time but instead I've been spending my time with some Italian kid who keeps hitting on me."

Tony's face went red. "You choose to be here. You could drop the uniforms and leave. You speak to me though." He retorted, a confident smirk on his lips, despite the flush in his cheeks.

"That's true- you're pretty cocky, you know that, Tony?" Bucky asked, laughing quietly as Tony's face went from confident to totally lost. "You're uh- full of yourself. " he clarified.

Tony nodded. "I get what I want." he said. That wasn't true- not _at all,_ actually. He didn't **get** much of anything from anyone, but he knew he was charming- or he was at least narcissistic enough to think it. The _one_ thing he had to thank his father for was his good looks- and in his limited experience with Americans that didn't land him with a black eye- he knew they loved _confidence._

"And what you want is... me? On _that **note,**_ make sure you check all the pockets? Keep whatever you find unless it's military or very clearly personal. Loose change, cigarettes, toys, all yours. They're labeled so try to keep them together, like, with the proper name and all. Their problems are all pretty obvious, rips and tears and undone hems." Bucky explained, rambling on a bit, tapping his fingers against the counter like he was excited about something. Tony took the uniforms with a nod, counting out each piece carefully and rolling his eyes around thoughtfully as he made some calculations. He mentioned the price to Bucky absentmindedly and pulled the large stack of uniforms to a table behind the counter. He could process them and then pass them off to Arno to fix.

"You can pay when they're finished- you have to give the receipt to your officers, I'm sure." Tony said, wondering why Bucky was so _adamant_ that he check the pockets- they weren't a _**cleaning**_ service, they never emptied the pockets. He made a mental note of it though as he handed off the receipt to Bucky with a grin, face flushing a little as their hands touched very briefly. What a nice coincidence that they sent Bucky on uniform duty this time.

"Yup! See ya later, Tony!"

"These are probably going to take a day or two." he clarified. According to his books, 'See you later' generally applied to when you'd see someone in the very near future.

Bucky nodded, a grin creeping it's way across his face. "I know. See you later." he affirmed again, confusing Tony. Instead of clarifying though, he turned on his heel, a rubber _squeak_ punctuating the fluid movement, and left, once more reminding Tony about the pockets before slipping out the door, a bell announcing that the door opened. Harsh footsteps announced his father coming up behind him but Tony was too perplexed by Bucky's statements to notice him until a rolled up newspaper hit the back of his head with a _swoosh._

Tony flinched and rubbed the back of his head. "What was that for?" he asked in English, before shaking his head and clarifying in his mother tongue. " _Perchè?"_

Howard scoffed. "Did you _**know**_ **him?** " he accused harshly, jabbing a finger in the middle of Tony's chest.

"No." Tony lied easily. "He was just talkative. Americans always are."

Arno crossed through the room once more, in one door and out the other. "I don't know much _Inglese_ but it sounded to me like he was smitten, _fratellino._ "

Tony rolled his eyes as his brother exited the room and Howard gave him a stern glare. "Don't be fooling around with Americans, Anthony. They're more **trouble** than they're worth- and I won't have my son running away with some _soldier._ " he warned, eyebrows raised in challenge. "You'll be _respectable_ and find a **wife.** " he said, eliciting a frown from Tony.

"Alright, papà." Tony said passively, turning to pick up the uniforms. "I'm going to get these ready and assess the fixes, yeah?"

"That's fine." Howard gave a ' _whatever'_ hand gesture, giving his son a look. "Make sure they make it to your mother." Usually he was never eager to work- they practically had to drag him by his hair down to the shop. He _**especially**_ hated working on uniforms. What was different now?

In the next room, Tony began placing all the shirts and coats on hangers and handing them on racks where they were visible, he pinned notes about damages onto each one He patted down the shirt-pockets, not finding anything of interest. Actually, he found _nothing._ He emptied the pants pockets and found nothing but a few cigarettes, a lighter, and a single U.S dollar. He was starting to think that Bucky just wanted him to work harder for no reason. Or maybe someone lost something, and it might be in their uniform.

At least, that's what Tony _thought_ until he came to the last garment in the pile- a class A coat with  _sergeant_ ranks attached to it. There was still a name-plate on the breast pocket of the shirt, and there wasn't anything actually _wrong_ with it. " _Barnes."_ he read allowed, a devilish grin growing on his face. He patted down the pocket and heard a familiar _crinkle-_ paper? He pulled the name-plate off, running his thumb over the engraved letters before absentmindedly pocketing it. He unbuttoned the pocket and pulled a piece of paper out, unfolding it. It appeared to be an itinerary of some sort. Tony frowned, placing it on the table and moving to hang the coat up. Thick black lettering on the backside of the thin paper caught his eye though, and he grinned from ear to ear as he picked it up, reading the handwritten words.

\--

 **_A.S._ **  
**_Meet me behind the bar tonight_ **  
**_at dusk. (When the sun goes down)_ **  
**_If you want to talk some more._ **  
**_-Bucky_ **

**_\--_ **

Tony crumpled the note and held the ball of paper close to his chest, face flushing. He unfolded the note and re-read it, laughing quietly at Bucky's clarification. He wanted to go upstairs and write down the word _dusk_ immediately- he loved new words. Instead though, he hung the coat on the _finished work_ rack and ran through the storefront- giving a quick shout about prepared uniforms- and up the stairs into their home. He took a moment to glance out the window before disappearing into his small 'bedroom'. He shoved the note into his drawer of paper and opened the adjacent drawer, revealing clothes. He changed into his favorite outfit and slicked his hair carefully before Arno peaked in.

"Where do you think you're going?" Arno inquired, voice gruff as he shoved a sheet aside, entering Tony's personal space _without permission._ Tony groaned in frustration, inspecting the intimidating shadow that Arno cast in the low light of the 'room'.

" _Fuori._ " ' _Out.'_ Tony commanded, glaring at his older brother as he sat on the edge of his bed, pulling shoes on over thick wool socks, tying the shoes unnecessarily tight. His movements were quick and aggressive, the tenseness a near-involuntary response to Arno's presence.

"Where?"

"Same place I always go."

Arno crossed his arms in a huff as Tony glanced past a sheet and out the single window. He needed to leave _now_ if he wanted to be there at dusk. "Can I come?"

Tony's eyes widened at Arno's suggestion because  _no, he most definitely could not come._ If Tony said 'no' though it'd be clear something was up- and he'd probably be followed anyway. He swallowed, speaking quickly, letting his mouth go before his head. "There's a room full of uniforms that need patches and hems- if you don't want to be paid enough to _eat_ then sure you can come." he told Arno, shrugging. Arno's posture slunk- Anthony was right. Tony smiled as Arno turned on his heel- glad he had the ability to think on his feet.

And with that, Tony left his bedroom, slinking down the stairs and out the front door as the sun set in the west.

 


	3. Anthony is an idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony's late, Bucky is as queer as a three dollar bill, and Arno is still the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //once again, if it's between arno/howard/tony/maria they're speaking Italian, but for ease of reading it, I put it in english. Thank you!//
> 
> Sorry this took so long! School and theatre hit me like a ton of bricks and I lost my computer, therefore I now have to rewrite the chapters I had pre-written- but I couldn't drop this. I'm too invested in this story and this ship to let it go.

 

"You're late." said a familiar voice as Tony turned the corner.

He jumped, a deep intake of breath causing him to hiccup. " _Cazzo!"_ he practically **hissed** , eliciting a laugh from Bucky, who sat on an old shipping crate in his uniform trousers, shoes, and a white T-Shirt. He'd clearly come straight from patrol- his hair was still neatly parted and the rest of his uniform sat beside him. Tony came around the corner fully, clutching his chest with a breathless laugh. "I'm not _late-_ the sun went down just now."

Bucky laughed again as Tony spoke, watching as the Italian moved to sit on the ground across from him. Tony sat, legs crossed, slouched slightly and looking up at the soldier, big brown eyes full of joy. 

"You wanted to talk with me?" Tony asked, cocking his head curiously. Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, I did. I'm curious about you." Bucky admitted, voice lighthearted. He started down at Tony intently, the low light dancing off Tony's hair, the smart way he was dressed. He wondered a lot about Tony- wondered how he knew English, wondered how he was so smooth, wondered what made Tony _tick._ It was a legitimate curiosity- and what could spending time with Tony hurt? He was a soldier in a foreign land- he didn't have **anyone.** Sure, his comrades, but it took **week** **s** to get a letter back from Steve and all his other friends were either drafted or didn't care. Companionship was vital when you couldn't even **understand** most people around you.

 _"Why?"_   Tony asked, cocking his head to the left. "I'm uninteresting. You, though. I'd very much like to know you better. From where are you? How old are you?" he asked, his words coming out drawn out as he tried to string together the sentence. He was loving every second of their conversation- but he really didn't want to talk about himself. His life was a touchy subject on the account that it **totally sucked.** He glanced down at his shoes as he heard Bucky snort in disbelief.

"I'm from New York, and I just turned 20. That's not important though-" he paused. He really wanted to know what made Tony tick, what made Tony so clearly _infatuated_ with him. "-What do you think it's like to be me, kid?" Bucky asked, quirking an eyebrow at Tony, who shifted his cross legs so his feet were flat against one another.

Tony looked back up at Bucky, stars (and stripes!) in his eyes. "It must be **wonderful!** You live in America. You're free to do whatever you want. There's nothing to stop you from speaking, or from learning what you want to know." he said, his voice bright and optimistic in place of the usual charming cynicism that sat in it. Bucky laughed, a grin lingering on his face even after the laugh ended.

"Not quite. I was **drafted.** Not very _free_ if you ask me. I'll tell you what, though." he started, pointing at Tony with one fingers. "You tell me **all about your life,** and I'll tell you about mine. It's fair."

Tony nodded slowly. "Sounds fair. I can do that." he scooted a little bit closer to Bucky before launching into his story. "I'm Anthony. You know that. I- where should I begin?" he asked, not giving Bucky time to answer. "I hate sewing. Very much I hate sewing. It drives me crazy it's so... repeating- _over and over_ you do the same thing. I like to building things. To take them apart and seeing what makes them work." Tony spoke, his accent thick as he rambled. He had to consciously remind himself to slow down as he translated his thoughts in his head.

"New things excite me! I'm learning _Francese_ too!" he said. "My brother, Arno, he was a soldier. He got hurt. I don't like Arno. And my mother- Maria. " his voice sounded almost _solemn_ as he spoke about his mother. Bucky noted his change in demeanor. "She's lovely. The war changed her- she isn't Maria anymore." he glanced right back to the rough ground he was sitting on. He wasn't sure why he was so at ease talking about himself so deeply with the soldier. There was a moment's silence before Bucky's Brooklyn accent cut it.

"My mother passed, when I was a kid. I live with my friend, Steve Rogers." He said- he didn't know why he said Steve's name- there was no way in hell Tony would know who Steve was- but he felt at ease for some reason. Compelled to tell-all. "And my pops passed away in the Great War." Bucky said with a nod and a shrug, as if dismissing any 'I'm Sorry's from Tony before they were said. "So you don't like your brother, huh?"

"Not at all." Tony said, face scrunching up in distaste. "He steals all attention where he is. Always. And he's kind of a whore." he said- he was as serious as a heat attack but Bucky let out a loud, hearty laugh from his chest. Tony looked confused but didn't press as to ask why Bucky laughed; he just watched as Bucky shook his head with a grin- maybe one of the prettiest grins Tony'd ever seen- and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Tony. He'd never smoked but he took one anyway- he wanted to seem grown up, like a peer and not just  _some kid._ As he managed to light it and take a drag though, he started coughing near immediately. He really didn't even know  _ **how**_  to smoke and ended up inhaling totally, the hot smoke hitting the back of his throat. He threw the lit cigarette onto the damp concrete, tears forming in his eyes as he tried to suppress the coughs.

Bucky shook his head at Tony. "Why did you take one if you've never smoked?" Bucky asked, incredulous. He rolled his eyes, slightly amused and at the same time  _concerned_ at the other's display. He lit his own cigarette and took a long drag as Tony recovered. Tony didn't attempt to redeem himself, or even answer him. Instead, Tony hoarsely changed the subject. 

"I have something for you!" he said, pulling the small plate from his pocket, the one with  _ **B A R N E S**_ carefully engraved into it. Bucky smiled and reached out for it, closing his fingers around it as Tony placed it into his hand. "So who's Steve?" Tony asked, sure now that Bucky was over his cigarette question as a  curious smile overtook his young yet tired features. Bucky grinned right back. 

"He's my best friend- a skinny little shit. Holds down the fort back home." he explained, smiling just at the thought of his best friend. "He's itching to be here but he couldn't hurt a fly if he tried." _  
_

"He wants to come to war?"

"I don't get it either kid. I suppose he's pretty lucky he can't come- he's got a lovely lady by his side that's absolutely  _infatuated_ with him. What I wouldn't do for something like that." 

Tony deflated a bit at that comment. Did Bucky have a lady at home waiting for him? Was he looking for one? Tony silently wondered if he'd misread all the signs. Even if he did, he'd be grateful for the soldiers companionship, but he really was hoping for something more from the handsome, kind, striking American. Tony coughed quietly, clearing his throat before speaking. 

"Oh... so... do _ **you** _ have a girlfriend back home?" 

Bucky laughed, shaking his head vehemently. "I-" he paused. Did this kid really deserve to know so much about him? He felt a connection with him- it was easy speaking to him really. Bucky swallowed and took another harsh drag of his cigarette before deciding he'd already told Tony a lot: why not go further? Who was Tony going to tell? His apparently-whorish brother? "No." he finally said. Tony straightened up and cocked his head, trying not to seem totally elated by the news.  "I am as  _ **queer**  _as a three dollar bill." Bucky admitted, his accent coming off strong. Tony cocked his head the other way, totally confused by the expression. 

There was silence for a moment, and Tony shifted uncomfortably as Bucky took a drag of his cigarette before putting it out under his shoe. "I don't unde-"

To both of their  _ **astonishment,**_  Bucky cut Anthony off and explained what he meant. Not with words, no. Instead, the soldier was quickly on his knees before Tony, bending so they were eye level, placing a short, chaste kiss on the Italian's lips, looking left and right before easily returning to where he was seated before. "Understand now?"

Tony nodded slowly, looking up at Bucky. Suddenly, nervousness overtook his usually-smooth demeanor and he glanced up at the soldier. He was going to say something meaningful, going to comment on the kiss, on how he just felt happier than he had in months, but what came out instead was "I'm here much past curfew." He jumped from his spot, standing and brushing the dirt off his trousers. 

"I'll walk you home- if anyone asks, I found you out past curfew and I'm giving you a stern talking to."

"You're too kind." Tony replied, smiling as Bucky stood, fixing his appearance before lighting another cigarette, flipping the lighter in his fingers. Tony watched, mesmerized for a moment, but then began walking. It was a short walk back to his home, but his parents were most likely still awake worried about him. Maybe not worried about  _him,_ but worried about the loss of labor that came with losing him, or the shame that came with having a son arrested for directly disobeying an order as serious as a  _coprifuoco._ He could already hear the verbal abuse, but the warm, familiar voice of the American soldier behind him- the words that bounced off lips that had just moments ago pressed against his own- cut his thoughts like a razor. 

"Slow down there, I'm escorting you, not following behind." he complained, catching up to Tony and breaking from his brisk jog into a quick paced walk. 

" _Mi dispiace,_ I'm scared." Tony expressed, smiling despite his anxiety. 

"I'm sure your folks are just worried about you." Bucky said with a shrug. "When I was little I'd disappear for hours, go riding my bike with my pals, stay in with Steve- Ma would always chew my ear off when I got home, but it's just 'cos she cared about my safety."

Tony shook his head. "I'm not  _little._ " Tony whined, rolling his eyes. "And I don't think they worry. I'm not sure they  _care._ " 

Bucky gave Tony a face and they walked in silence until they arrived at their destination. Bucky must've looked over Tony's features at least a dozen times, just trying to find something he **didn't** like about the charming Italian with jet black hair. He knew he couldn't be thinking about Tony that way- that he couldn't ever let it go further than that simple kiss. He was a  _ **soldier,**_ and he didn't fancy being dishonorably discharged for his taste in people. He needed to clear his mind- but he found he couldn't, because it kept arriving at Tony each and every time. He watched as Tony stopped dead in his tracks, composing himself before walking through the doors of the shop that doubled as his home, the bell on the the front door  _ringing_ as they entered it, a bell that usually announced a customer, this time just making Howard aware of his son's intensely late arrival.

" _ **Anthony Edward** **Stark!**_ " announced a harsh voice, making Tony cringe. 

"Sir, He's not in trouble. He was just walking back a bit late, is a-" Bucky tried, but he was cut off by Howard, frantically speaking, clearly made  _nervous_ by the soldier's presence. Tony drifted from Bucky's side to his father's and was greeted with a harsh smack to the back of his head. He rubbed the sore spot, biting his lip and looking to Bucky with apologetic eyes as Howard spoke. 

" _Mi dispiace. Anthony è un idiota . Non succederà più._ " Howard said, eliciting a furrowed brow from the brunet soldier. Tony translated easily, his heart sinking at the words he repeated carefully. 

"I'm sorry. Anthony is an  _ **idiot.**_ It won't happen again." he told Bucky, embarrassed. Maybe he  _ **was**_ just some kid- this was just proof, right? He couldn't even be trusted to keep his eyes on the time. Bucky explained the situation and Tony relayed it in his mother tongue- not that it mattered if he was in trouble with the law or not. Even as Arno- who'd walked in apparently just to see Tony be berated- stood in the corner snickering at his little brother's apparent misery Howard shot Tony glares, trying his best to seem gracious to the soldier. 

" _Grazi!_ " Howard called out after Bucky turned on his heel and left with a curt wave and a wink in Tony's direction. Howard and Arno descended upon him as soon as the door closed. 

"That  _ **soldier**_ again! What is it that's going on between you two?" Howard accused, rage filling his voice.   
  
"Nothing,  _papà,_ he's a patrol on this side of town. I wanted to go out for drinks!"   
  
Arno joined in. "Don't  _lie_ to father, Anthony. You're better than that- or, at least I know  **I** am."  
  
"I'm not  _ **lying!**_ "

"No more of that, Anthony. You'll be here working from now on, every night."

Tony let out a despaired groan, shaking his head. "No, pa-"

" _Sì!"_ Howard exclaimed, jabbing a finger in the center of Tony's chest. Tony turned sharply on his heel and disappeared up the stairs, frustrated beyond  _belief._ All he could think about was Bucky's lips against his own, the perfect weather, the way the night air made Bucky seem almost ethereal. The taste of _smoke_ and crisp linen that already reminded him of the soldier, despite the fact that they hadn't known one another for long. He sighed heavily, falling into his small bed without dressing into night clothes or totally closing the curtains surrounding his room. 

There was a feeling in his chest that he couldn't exactly  _place,_ but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted it gone- maybe he did. Maybe to save himself the heartbreak of falling in love with a foot soldier. An American one, at that. He shook his head, covering his head with a pillow. 

 _ **This**_ was going to play out  _interestingly_ to say the  **very least.**


End file.
